


Pair Nicely

by Bakingblues



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, blink and you'll miss it Eric Dier/Dele Alli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:41:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakingblues/pseuds/Bakingblues
Summary: He put down the bottle on the counter to pay, and on a whim picked up a bag of Florentine biscuits. Because, why not.Mousa has a nice evening. That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Mousa Dembélé/Jan Vertonghen
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10
Collections: Separation Anxiety





	Pair Nicely

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [lordsanga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordsanga/pseuds/lordsanga). Log in to view. 



Mousa stifled a yawn, rolled his neck and leaned back in his chair. He looked out the window - his office was on the 8th floor which gifted him an enviable view of the river. He liked watching the lights on the trees of the south bank flicker into life as dusk fell. 

The rain, which had been falling all day, showed no sign of stopping, the early autumn sky a heavy grey. Mousa sighed and looked at his watch - it was ten to five. 

“Mr Dembele,” his assistant’s voice crackled through the intercom. “It’s the French office on the phone.”

Mousa sighed again, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. 

“Tell them I’ll call back tomorrow,” he said. He could hear the surprise in his assistant’s voice as she replied okay and ended the call. 

Mousa closed his laptop, swept the pile of clementine peel on his desk into the bin and shrugged on his dark navy Burberry raincoat. He picked up his leather briefcase, company issued umbrella and locked his office door. Before he left the building he turned back, smiling at his assistant.

“Sofia,” he said. “Don’t stay late.” 

~

Normally Mousa enjoyed the walk from his office to Green Park, allowing the time to unwind and empty his mind from the stresses of the day. But the rain, whilst not heavy, was relentless and so he allowed himself to get on the number 9 bus when it pulled up to the stop.

He squashed himself into a seat and pulled out his phone to message Jan.

_I’m on my way home. Very wet._

_**You left early?** _

_Hm. Tiring day._

_**Can you pick up a bottle on your way home?** _

_Of course. Any preference?_

_**We’re having grilled aubergines with spicy chickpeas and a walnut sauce.** _

_Sounds delicious._

_**I know. I’ll also have a towel ready.** _

_I love you._

_**I know. You’re okay too. :)** _

Mousa smiled and put his phone away. As he looked up he caught a young man leaning against the handrail by the bus door staring at him, a slight frown on his face. He looked vaguely familiar but before Mousa could place him, the man looked away, scowling even more. 

Mousa remembered - the young man was the boy Eric had brought with him to their house warming party back in the summer. Dele, he thought. That was his name. He’d liked him a lot, although shy and a bit defensive. He’d got on well with their friends, particularly Sonny. And he’d made Eric smile; it was nice to see Eric smiling. Mousa still felt a slight awkwardness with how things had panned out with himself, Jan and Eric. And although Eric appeared to hold no resentment - - he’d coped with Jan and Mousa getting back together with remarkable grace -- he didn’t smile as much as Mousa liked. Yes, he’d liked this Dele, he hoped he’d see him more. 

He looked up again, trying to catch Dele’s eye, but Dele was staring out the window. Mousa could hear the music thumping from his headphones, it sounded like rap? Grime? Mousa didn’t know. He put his own headphones on and settled back into the chair and continued with a podcast on the history of the salt trade in Tang Dynasty China. It was very interesting. 

~

Mousa reached Stoke Newington later than he’d hoped, delays on the Victoria line saw to that. Still, it was earlier than his usual 9.00pm and he was looking forward to the evening he had before him as he pushed open the door of the deli. 

He shook his umbrella out behind him, leaving it in the rack by the door. The proprietor nodded at him from behind the counter - the deli was two streets away from their house and Mousa and Jan frequented it regularly. He made his way to the back of the shop where bottles of wine lined the wall, sorted by colour and country. Jan had said he was making an aubergine dish, so it must be a red. He discarded the South American wines, instead focusing on the Italians. Or maybe a Greek? It wasn’t a special occasion, so he’d stick within the medium price range - £15 or £20 a bottle. He was about to settle on a Copertino he knew Jan liked, when a discounted Bandol caught his eye. Mousa picked up the bottle; he was fond of the Mourvèdre grape. Yes, that will pair nicely with the dish, he thought, feeling satisfied with his decision. 

He put down the bottle on the counter to pay, and on a whim picked up a bag of Florentine biscuits. Because, why not. 

~

Jan greeted him at the door, kissing him softly and mopping his dripping brow with the tea towel he had slung over his arm. The smell of garlic wafted down the hall from the kitchen and Mousa sighed happily. 

“Hi,” he said, the relief of slipping back into Flemish after a day of talking in English and French palpable. 

“Hi,” Jan smiled back at him, taking the wine and biscuits from Mousa, allowing Mousa to take off his coat and hang it in the hall closet. 

“Dinner will be in half an hour or so, go and freshen up and you can tell me about your day.” Jan said, kissing Mousa again before heading back down the hallway to the kitchen. 

Mousa smiled and made his way up the stairs, returning to the kitchen once he had changed into a black cashmere roll-neck and pair of soft grey slacks. 

Jan had opened the wine and the bottle sat on the kitchen counter to breathe, next to two glasses. Mousa filled them generously and handed one to Jan. 

“Thanks,” Jan smiled. “It’s just gone in. It’ll need twenty minutes” He set a timer on his phone and chivvied Mousa into the front room where a vanilla candle had been lit and soft jazz was playing on Mousa’s record player. 

Mousa sank down into the cream sofa, stretching his legs over Jan’s lap. Jan picked up his bare feet, massaging circles into his arches.

“That feels nice,” Mousa said, letting his head fall back against the cushion. He sighed. 

“You should quit,” Jan said quietly, moving his hands up Mousa’s calves. 

“Maybe,” Mousa said, his eyes closed, sinking into the feel of Jan’s hands against his skin. 

“I know you won’t,” Jan replied. “But you could.” 

“I like my job,” Mousa said. 

“I like seeing you before 10pm,” Jan countered. Mousa opened his eyes and smiled softly at Jan. Jan smiled back and pinched Mousa’s leg. 

“Oh, I just remembered,” Mousa said, reaching across to the table to pick up his wine. He took a sip and smiled in appreciation. He’d made a good choice.

“Hm?” Jan prompted.

“I saw that kid on the way home. The one Eric brought to the house party.” 

“Dele?” Jan asked. 

“Yes, on the bus. I’m not sure he recognised me. Or maybe he did. He scowled a lot.”

Jan’s brow furrowed disapprovingly. 

“I like him,” Mousa said. “I think he’s good for Eric.”

“I don’t know,” Jan said, rubbing his thumb along the base of his wine glass. 

“You don’t think anyone is good enough for Eric.”

“I don’t know if I trust him.”

“Eric is a big boy, he can look after himself.” 

“He likes Dele,” Jan said. “And Dele obviously likes him. I don’t understand why they aren’t partners.” 

“Maybe he just needs time,” Mousa mused, taking another sip of his wine and placing the glass back onto the table.

“I just don’t want him to hurt Eric,” Jan said, frowning. The unsaid _like I did_ hung in the air between them. Mousa shifted up onto his knees and crowded into Jan’s space. He looped his arms around Jan’s neck, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. 

“You’re a good person, Jan,” Mousa said softly, against his lips. Jan smiled and the timer on his phone sounded. 

“Come on,” Mousa said, sitting back and stretching his arms. “Let’s eat.”

**Author's Note:**

> Separation Anxiety, my best girls. Thank you M for letting me write in your world <3


End file.
